


Bless me father, I have sinned

by bitsandbobsandstuff



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Demon Bucky Barnes, Demon Sex, F/M, Rough Sex, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsandbobsandstuff/pseuds/bitsandbobsandstuff
Summary: Bucky likes things rough, in the most painful ways possible.





	Bless me father, I have sinned

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I’ve ever written any kind of AU, and it was for a supernatural writing challenge. Bucky Barnes as a Demon was just something I couldn't turn down.
> 
> Rather rough and aggressive in places. Pain kinks included, and if salt kinks are a thing, they're in here too.
> 
> It was wildly fun to write, but please take the warnings seriously, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Anyway, I should go to church now.

The well-oiled tumblers click smoothly into place when you turn the lock. Resting your forehead against the door, you let your eyes drift closed in exhaustion. It’s 2am and after much cajoling, the last drunk has finally stumbled from the bar, leaving you alone. Toeing off your shoes, you leave them at the door and turn around to finish cleaning up.

But you’re not alone.

He’s sitting at the bar, leaning back on the stool, holding a cigarette between his teeth, the tip of his tongue moving it back and forth as he stares at you. Digging in his pocket, he pulls up an ancient metal lighter, flipping open the lid and striking the coils with a well-practised hand. The small flame flickers, blue and orange dancing bright. He tips his head forward, touching the tip of his cigarette to the fire, the cherry burning bright red when he inhales. He gives you a lazy once-over as he lets the smoke rest on his tongue, before it rolls from between his lips.

“What have I said about smoking in here.” Your irritation is obvious, and you sigh tiredly as you walk toward him.

He gives you a sardonic smile, inhaling again and flicking his ash on the floor. 

“What do you want Bucky?”

He remains silent, smoking slowly as his eyes roam over you.

He’s dressed as he always is when he arrives - black jeans, black t-shirt, black boots. You’ve never seen him in anything else, even after years of these encounters. There’s a comfort in that small consistency, although everything else about him is enough to terrify even the bravest of souls.

His ankle rests on his knee, and when he takes a final drag on his smoke, he reaches down and stubs it out on the heel of his boot. 

“You know exactly what I want.”

His voice sounds hoarse and shredded, as though he had swallowed a handful of razor blades before he arrived. He looks like hell, a fitting image considering where he’s come from. When he looks you fully in the face, you can see a shallow cut stretching from jawline to eyebrow, a red line of dried blood revealing the path. His hands rest casually in his lap, and you can see the purple bruises flowering across the knuckles of his flesh hand, the surface split and broken open. His metal hand is a shining opposite, smooth and clean, except for the splatters of dark blood that stain the tips of his fingers. 

He could heal it all in a heartbeat, but he won’t. Because Bucky Barnes likes the pain. 

_Pain._ That’s why he’s here. He wants it. Loves it. _Craves it_. There’s nothing in the world that will get him off better than when you send the fire scorching through his veins, when you brand him with those purest of objects that make his skin sizzle. The sharp bursts of agony can send him flying higher than anything else in the world, and he relishes the pain you bring him. 

Bucky knows there’s no one else who can carry him so carefully along the edge of suffering and still deposit him on the right side of pleasure. It’s a delicate balance to walk, and over the years, the two of you have found an unholy balance.

Being with him has put you on the fast track to Hell, there’s no question in your mind. It’s a heavy price to pay, but you’ve walked into this sin with eyes wide open to your eventual fate, desiring nothing more than to burn in the fires of the soul-consuming pleasure you feel when you’re with him.

Walking past him, you pull a key from your skirt pocket and unlock the small drawer behind the bar, pulling out a bottle of 30 year old Macallan and a flask of holy water. Selecting a crystal tumbler from the row of clean glasses, you pour him a finger of the smoky Scotch and unscrew the flash to add a splash of the water. Swirling the liquid to combine the two flavours, you hand him the glass, your face expressionless.

He sniffs the scotch appreciatively, before taking a fortifying breath and throwing the amber liquid back, choking when he feels the holy water blister and burn its way down his throat. He comes to his feet, doubling over to cough raggedly, before jerking upright with a growl, and flinging the glass angrily against the wall, shattering it. 

“Fuck you Bucky, that was one of my best glasses.“ 

He gives you a dark chuckle, and with a blurred movement, reaches across the bar, wrapping his hand behind your neck dragging you halfway across the counter and slanting his mouth over yours. Shoving his tongue between your teeth, he rubs it against yours, fighting you for access, when he feels you bite down hard.

He jerks back with a hiss, immediately tasting the tang of his blood as it floods his mouth, and his hand slides from behind your neck to grip your throat tightly, before he gives you a black grin.

He wants you, you can see it. His eyes are fading from the bright blue he projects to the rest of the world, changing him into the man you know.

When he’s turned on, the darkness takes over, spreading from the centre of his iris, thin fingers of black crawling out to create a spiderweb pattern across his eyes. It’s an eerie image. One of your favourite games is to see how fast you can move him from bright blue to absolute black. It’s a dangerous game, but one you’ve mastered.

Hand still gripping your neck, Bucky leans closer and licks the smooth skin behind your ear, his deep voice dripping with lust when he whispers his request.

“Give me everything you’ve got tonight. Do your worst. _Don’t hold back_.”

A grunt of agreement is the only thing you can manage, unable form a word with his hand tight on your windpipe. Locking your eyes on his, you reach for the flask of holy water still sitting on the bar and knock it over, spilling the blessed contents on the counter. Swirling your fingers in the puddle, you wrap them around his bruised knuckles and dig into the flesh, the water immediately soaking into his broken skin. He lets out a yelp at the sting, and releases you immediately.

His eyes glimmer now in the low light, the spider-web of black solidifying further.

Rubbing your throat, your lips curl up in a sly smile.  “Just remember Bucky, you asked for this.”

He nods in agreement, the tense excitement already rolling off him in waves. Turning to the glass shelves lining the wall behind you, you pluck a bottle of tequila from the top shelf, and collect a shot glass and shaker of pure white salt, turning back to him with narrowed eyes.

“Follow me, lover. If you break anything else of mine tonight, I’ll fucking kill you.” Turning toward the back of the bar, you head toward the rundown old pool table sitting in the dark corner.

He’s nervous, you can hear him quietly panting behind you, but his lust outweighs the fear, and he follows obediently. 

Carefully placing the three items on the pool table, you turn to him. 

"Take off your shirt.”

He hesitates, eyeing the salt shaker suspiciously, before his eyes flick back to you. Breathing heavily through his nose, he reaches behind his neck, fisting his hand in the cloth and he yanks the shirt over his head, tossing it on the table. He watches closely as you calmly pour a shot of tequila, before reaching up to trail your hand down his chest. He can still feel residue from the holy water on your fingers, and he twitches at the uncomfortable feel, the heavy muscles rippling as he tries to hold himself still.

Bringing your hand to his mouth, you push your fingers between his lips.

“Suck.” You murmur the order, feeling him jerk at the taste of the holy water, and both his hands rise to clasp your wrist and hold it steady, while he licks and sucks your fingers clean, groaning at the taste.

Humming your approval, you pull your fingers from his mouth, tracing them down his neck, his shoulder, his arm, before you cup his flesh hand and turn it over, palm up. Bringing it to your lips, you pepper gentle kisses along his arm, letting him relax at the soft feel, before suddenly sinking your teeth into his wrist. He flinches at the unexpected feel, a low cry drawn from him.

Resting your mouth against the pulse in his wrist, you swirl your tongue back and forth, laving over the bite. Holding him tightly, you reach for the salt shaker that sits next to you. With a smirk at him, you shake the salt lightly over his wrist, and he lets out an angry shout. His skin immediately turns red and raw, but he tries to keep his arm steady.

Letting the salt settle, to embed itself further, you watch his face closely as the spasms of pain dance across his features, before finally leaning down to lick the salt away. The tart feel of the crystals, combined with the tangy taste of his sweat, feels delicious on your tongue. Once you swallow the taste, you reach for the shot of tequila, throwing it back before setting the empty glass on the table. 

The blue irises are long gone, a wash of purest black filling his eyes. You smile at him, when you pour another shot.

He remains frozen in front of you, black eyes watchful, waiting for your next move. Reaching for the waist of his jeans, you slowly begin to unbutton them, sliding the zipper down, keeping your eyes locked on his. You hear his breathing escalate when you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his hard length, gripping him tightly. He wears nothing under the jeans, making it easy for you to slide the fabric down far enough to free his cock.

Sinking slowly to your knees in front of him, you lean forward and take him fully in your mouth, your hands reaching around to grip his ass. 

He groans, long and loud at the feel, spreading his feet wider to balance and you bob your head, teeth dragging him lightly, slicking his cock in saliva. He closes his eyes at the feel, relaxing as you lick and suck him, letting you control the pace. He shudders when he feels the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat, and he can’t stop himself from pushing his hips forward. Taking your mouth from his cock, your hand continues to stroke him, while your tongue moves down, sweeping over his balls.

When you pull back from him and stop your movements, he opens his eyes to look down impatiently, and his eyes widen in immediate fear when he sees you reaching for the salt shaker balancing on the edge of the pool table. His chest heaves, deep breaths now rattling his lungs, and you see sweat beading on his face.

He reaches his hand forward and grips your jaw tightly, inserting two fingers between your lips, hooking them to the side, holding your mouth open. Waiting, _wanting_ what comes next.

His body is rigid, knees trembling while he watches your hand slowly coming closer. It takes every ounce of self-control to remain in place, even though he’s desperate to run, and you hear his quiet repetition of “ _fuck_ ,” the speed and intensity of the word increasing as your hand comes nearer. Holding his stare, you give the shaker a hard flick, pouring the salt across his cock. 

The howl that rips from his throat turns your blood cold. The sound is like nothing you’ve ever heard, layers upon layers of voices whirling around you, screaming profanities at the feel of the delicate skin sizzling under a thick layer of salt. Bucky slams his mental fist down on the edge of the pool table, the wood splintering as his hand slices through it, like a hot knife through butter.

He writhes in agony for much longer than you expect, absorbing the feel of the salt as it scorches him, before he finally gives up. The fingers gripping your jaw wrench you forward, and with a frantic thrust of his hips, he buries his cock down your throat. He holds your head down, letting your saliva wash away the salt, and you feel the black hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nose as you try to breathe.

Panting harshly, sweat running down his chest, it takes deep breaths before he begins to spiral down from the pain. Still keeping your face firmly down on his cock, he leans over you and picks up the shot of tequila sitting on the table. He gives a vicious thrust of hips, before releasing the iron grip on your head and you pull back from him, coughing as you catch your breath. He smiles down at you, a predatory look in his eyes, and hands you the shot glass. Snatching it from him, you toss the bitter liquid down your throat.

His nostrils flare at the furious look on your face, and he rips the shot glass from your fingers, tossing it over his shoulder, and with no hesitation, shoves his dick back in your mouth, his large palms holding tight to your head as his hips pick up a fast pace. Fucking your face hard, his heavy balls slam against your chin, while you bury your nails in his thighs to hang on.

Bucky loves the wet, velvety feel of your mouth on his cock more than just about anything, but he knows he will finish far too early if he stays in this position.

Hauling you to your feet, his fingers grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it quickly over your head. Spinning you around, he runs his hands up your waist to the clasp on your bra. He doesn’t even attempt to unhook it, simply ripping the fabric apart, jerking the straps down your arms, laughing when you growl indignantly. His hands reach around to cup your breasts while his hips pin you to the table, and he grinds his cock hard against you.

“You fucking ass, I liked this bra.”

He barely acknowledges you, grunting against your skin when he bends his head to suck a dark bruise on your shoulder, while his fingers pinch your nipples, rolling and twisting the delicate flesh.

You can barely think straight from the sheer pleasure rocking through you at the feel of his rough hands, but you shake your head slightly to clear your thoughts, and reach into the pocket of your skirt to pull out several rings, sliding them discretely onto your fingers. He doesn’t realise your intent when you curve an arm behind you to grip the back of his neck, until he feels you splay your fingers flat against his skin. The rings decorating your hands are pure iron and the moment they touch him, his back arches violently, a desperate groan bleeding from his throat.

Scrabbling to catch your hand, he holds onto it for a long moment, letting the iron brand him further, before he rips it away and bends you forward over the pool table, metal hand curled around the back of your neck to push your chest flat against the soft green felt. You feel a burn from the table when it rubs against your bare nipples, and you moan softly at the feel, moving your body so you can feel more friction.

Swiftly rucking up your skirt, he hisses at the sight that greets his eyes, your ass barely covered by a small scrap of black lace. Pushing his flesh hand between your legs, he moves the lace aside and drags his calloused hand through your wet cunt, before forcing two fingers deep inside you.

His voice is raw when he growls in your ear. “I can feel you fucking _dripping_ down my fucking hand.”

“I get off on making you fucking miserable.” Gritting your teeth, you throw your head back against his shoulder, your body bucking hard as you urge him to move his hand, and he complies instantly.

“Touch yourself for me, don’t stop until you come.”

His picks up the pace, his long fingers fucking you hard from behind and you reach between your legs to rub your clit. You’re so fucking close, it only takes a few quick passes before you come hard, your body giving out as you slump into the table with a cry.

Bucky keeps his hand moving, feeling your cum drip through his fingers, drenching his hand. With a gasp, he jerks his hand from your cunt, and drags his fingers down your back leaving a wet trail on your spine. 

His hand is shaking when he picks up the salt shaker lying next to you, sprinkling the crystals on your skin where they catch in the damp cum. Kicking your feet further apart, you feel him rub the tip of his cock against your folds, placing himself in position. Holding tight to your hips, he takes a deep breath and dips his head down, licking the salt laden cum off your back, at the same time he shoves his cock into you.

Your sweet flavour, the burn of the salt, and the feel of your hot, silky cunt all combine to wreak havoc on his senses, and you feel the vibrations in his chest when he screams the painful ecstasy into your back. 

Rough, staccato Latin curses are falling from his mouth, and while you don’t understand the words, you can clearly hear the anguish in them. There’s a moment of deathly silence, before a cold breeze suddenly gusts through the room, blowing the loose salt crystals away, and making you shiver violently.

Bucky sets a brutal pace, inaudible growls ripping up his throat as his hips slam into you again and again, the edge of the table forcing immediate bruises to bloom across your hip bones. His metal hand holds fast to the back of your neck, and with his free hand he reaches for the tequila, gripping the neck and flipping it up to drink straight from the bottle, the bitter liquid washing down the remainder of the salt.

Banging the bottle down, the liquid sloshes onto the table, leaving dark splatters. Desperate now to face you, he pulls out of your tight cunt, and whips you around to face him, his hands dropping under your thighs to lift you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

When you see his black eyes up close, you can’t help yourself. Claiming his lips in a deep kiss, he’s caught off guard at the unexpected feel of you sucking his tongue into your mouth, and he stumbles when he turns from the table, crashing you both into the wall.

Recovering quickly, he spreads his legs, keeping an arm under your thighs and placing the other on the wall for leverage, and he immediately thrusts back into you. Hooking your ankles above his ass, you hold tight to him as he fucks you hard, his heavy body slamming you against the wall again and again.

He’s getting close, you can tell from his tightened muscles, from the way his rhythm begins to stutter. Your arms are circled around him, fingers clenched in tight fists, but you know what he wants, what he needs to push him over the edge.

Tilting his head back to look at you, those black eyes wordlessly beg you to finish him, so you loosen your hands and wrap your fingers around his neck, the iron rings immediately searing him. You can smell the skin crackling and you hold tight, burying them into his flesh. 

He throws his head back, snarling at the feel, his teeth snapping viciously at you. Tangling one hand in his hair, you feel his leg jerk hard in response, his boot kicking the wall, cracking the plaster. His snarl transforms into a ragged moan as the pain shoots through every nerve of his body, his plea to you punctuated by sharp snaps as he drives his hips into you. 

"Again, _again_ , come for me _again_.”

The rage you feel from him, the danger behind his every movement is an aphrodisiac you can’t fight, and in that moment you feel your cunt contract as you come again, pressing your face into his shoulder, teeth latching onto his collarbone to stifle your scream.

He feels everything at once, the way you’re tearing his hair, your teeth sinking into him, the agonising feel of the iron searing his flesh, and it forces a long, furious moan from his lips. He comes hard, falling against the wall as his knees buckle, struggling to keep you both upright when the feeling nearly renders him unconscious.

His entire body continues to shake as he tries to regain control, and he quickly goes quiet, the only sounds you hear are soft whimpers of pain as he exhales. Once he finds his release, he moves quickly from pleasure to excruciating pain, so you unfasten your fingers, pulling off the rings, letting them clatter to the floor.

He’s still panting, his entire body twitching as his orgasm winds its way out of his system, and he pulls back to lean his forehead against yours.

His eyes open, and you watch the black as it begins to fade, the dark streaks slowly folding into the centre of his eyes, the spiderweb of darkness disappearing. Holding his gaze, you smile when the bright blue settles back in place, and he leans forward to brush his lips to yours.

“Bless me Father,” you whisper into his mouth, your tongue lightly caressing his. “For I have _sinned_.”


End file.
